


There's an app for that. Or, how Aziraphale finally learned to use a modern phone

by Periphyton



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Author doesn't like apps either, Aziraphale is bad with modern technology, Lockdown Fic, M/M, Stress Baking, The Ritz, War did something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periphyton/pseuds/Periphyton
Summary: My lockdown fic. Aziraphale still needs some help distributing all the baked goods he's cooked. Crowley offers an alternative to messing with humans free will.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50





	There's an app for that. Or, how Aziraphale finally learned to use a modern phone

After the slithering over and drinking and watching cakes being eaten (because nobody seriously expected Crowley to stay away and sleep until July), there was still an impressive amount of baked goods left over. Aziraphale hadn’t been kidding when he said he had been stress baking. If Crowley did anything more than nibble at a few biscuits his snake metabolism would kick in, and he really would sleep for a month just to digest everything. Even Aziraphale couldn’t keep up with eating all of it. 

“Crowley, my dear, may I ask you, well, I’m not sure if this polite, perhaps, but in light of the current situation, I was wondering if it was possible for you to . . . um, since you don’t actually want to cause more mischief with people already so miserable, what with Pestilence coming back out of retirement . . .”

“What, angel? Just spit it out.” Crowley looked up from his couch to see Aziraphale wringing his hands, crumbs down his shirt and his bow tie askew. 

“I can’t eat all this, and it would be a shame for it to go to waste, what with people worried about having enough food and all. And it was such a delight to share it with those lovely burglars that stopped by, really they were just desperate for some extra help. So I was just wondering if it was possible for you too, well, since you still are a demon and all that, I mean you’re certainly not an aardvark . . .” the angel laughed nervously and looked even more flustered, if possible. 

That was no good. For all Crowley had spent several thousand years enjoying flustering Aziraphale, he still couldn’t figure out what the angel was asking for. And if he did The Thing With The Eyes, how was Crowley supposed to do something if he didn’t know what Aziraphale was asking for? 

“Of course I’m still a demon. What do you want me to do, demonically wile people back into your shop, just so you can thwart me?” he asked. 

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Can you actually do that? I could send out even more cakes, and some of the biscuits, and the scones aren’t too bad, oh I’m sure I could inspire them to share, and I certainly have enough sourdough bread. Although maybe not that, so many other people are making it nowadays. Perhaps I could save it for the ducks, I wonder if they miss everybody?”

“Aziraphale, are you kidding me?” Crowley groaned with full demonic dramatics. “You want me to use my demonic wiles on people to come here, just so you can send them out with more biscuits?” Fuck, he was doing That Thing With His Eyes. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. 

“Oh I suppose you are right. It is silly of me, I know.” Now the angel looked even more crestfallen. 

Crowley sighed. “It isn’t silly of you. Of course you want to help people. But maybe there’s another way besides tricking people with demonic wiles.” 

That was better - Aziraphale perked back up. “Another way? Crowley what are you thinking of?”

“Well, maybe there’s an app for that.” he suggested.

“A what?” Aziraphale asked, looking confused.

“An app. For letting people know you have food to share.” Crowley tried to explain but Aziraphale just looked even more confused.

“An app - is that short for apple? How would that work? Do humans put out apples to let other people know they have extra food?” 

Crowley groaned again and facepalmed. “No, not an apple - an app. Like what people put on their phones now. It’s an application. People put these - applications - apps - little computer programs on their phones to tell them things.” Aziraphale just looked even more confused and a little dubious. “Here, let me show you mine.” Maybe the angel would understand with a visual demonstration. A demon could hope, right? 

It wasn’t until Crowley showed him how to check the menu of one of his favorite restaurants that Aziraphale showed any understanding or interest. “Wait, Crowley, go back to the last image,” he asked, and Crowley returned to the previous screen. “Right there, is that an app? For ordering food?”

“Yep. You open this, you can place your order, and they bring it right to your door. Or you could drive over and pick it up.” Crowley tapped the screen and scrolled up and down, showing his angel the different menu options.

“And if they bring the food here, I can give them something they can take for themselves! Oh Crowley, that’s brilliant! And I must admit, I am a little tired of baked goods. I wouldn’t mind some steak and chips. Do you also use the ‘app’ to pay for this?” Aziraphale looked at him hopefully.

“Yes angel, you have to use a credit card to pay for this. You still have yours, don’t you?” Both of them had unlimited visa cards from their respective former employers. Hell had never cared how much of a charge Crowley had rung up, but heaven had audited Aziraphale regularly. 

“I do. I’ve been careful using it, but it still seems to work.” Aziraphale fussed around on his desk until he found a white, nearly blank visa card. Crowley walked him through all the steps to place an order, pay, and leave a tip. When the delivery finally showed up Aziraphale beamed at him with such an angelic smile that it was impossible to refuse his offer of two dozen biscuits, a loaf of chocolate chip banana bread, and half a dozen cream scones. The poor guy left a bit dazed and laden down with the baked goods, a huge tip, and an angelic blessing protecting him from harm. Aziraphale enjoyed his steak and chips so much he was literally glowing with the smug satisfaction of combining culinary indulgence with helping humans who needed his support. Crowley didn’t mind. It was always a pleasure to bask in that happy angel aura, and there hadn’t been a lot of that recently.

It wasn’t until the next day that Crowley realized what he had unleashed. 

“Crowley, may I borrow your phone? I’ve still got three cakes I’d like to give to someone, and I thought it would be nice to have Greek take out today. Would you be so kind?” 

The demon unlocked his phone and handed it over with a sinking feeling. But the ensuing wail of despair wasn’t what he was bracing himself for.

“Crowley! The Ritz! Crowley, it’s - it’s - it’s closed!” Aziraphale looked near to tears as he shoved the phone back to its rightful owner.

“ _What?_ ” Crowley knew things had gotten bad, but somehow he had just assumed the Ritz would always be there. It had been there for them for over a hundred years. World War I hadn’t closed the Ritz, and neither had World War II. It had been there, a place for him to tempt and wile high society, a place to wine and dine his angel, and finally a place to celebrate outwitting both heaven and hell and stopping the Apocalypse. But now he stared in mute horror at the message on his phone. 

_IMPORTANT INFORMATION_

_It is with great sadness that we have taken the decision following the Government's advice, to temporarily close The London Ritz._

_This is the first time in the history of our great hotel that we have closed our doors to our loyal guests since we opened on Piccadilly in 1906. This is a very sad, but inevitable, decision and our priority during these unprecedented and challenging times is the health and well being of our brilliant colleagues and much-loved clients._

_As soon as it is safe to do so, the entire Ritz team look forward to re-opening our revolving door. Until then, we thank you for your ongoing support, we really do appreciate it, and we wish all the very best for the difficult weeks ahead._

_Take great care of yourselves._

_With best wishes_

_Sal & The Ritz Team _1

They stared at each other, angel and demon, over the message that the Ritz was closed. Up until now, this current experience had been too modern to feel like the great plagues of the past only they remembered. It didn’t really feel like previous plagues, not when people still talked to each other all over the world on magic tablets the size of their hands. Even in London it didn’t have the same sense of slow mounting dread and the terrifying isolation from being cut off from the rest of the world as everyone around you starved and died, until you too finally succumbed to either Pestilence or Famine. But this was real. This was the Globe Theater closing, even as Shakespeare was still directing his own plays. This was the museum’s closing, hiding artwork in the Underground to protect them from the German bombs. _This was the_ Ritz. _Closing._

“It’s only temporary.” Aziraphale said, with a faint smile. “They’ll open back up again in a jiffy. Humans are so clever now, keeping everything clean, figuring out vaccines.”

“Right. Temporary.” Crowley said. “Vaccines, yeah, it’s not - not like the Black Death. They’ve got proper medicine now, can even get pictures of viruses and everything.” 

“But the other restaurants - all the little ones, and the cafes, Crowley, they might not make it. The Ritz, well, it’s the Ritz, it’ll be fine. But still, the others . . .” Aziraphale looked even more despondent. 

“You could always keep ordering more food from them, to keep them from losing too much money.” Crowley suggested. 

“You’re right! Of course I could. I can’t eat it all myself, but I could order food and send it to other people. Crowley, that’s a wonderful idea!” It was like the sun coming out, watching hope chase the despair off the angel’s face.

He looked down at the phone in is hands, with its sleek black case and red snake design on it. “Can you show me how to turn this on again?”

Oh, crap. There it was. Of course his angel would want to save every hole in the wall cafe, every fascinating little restaurant where they knew his name. And if Crowley wanted to get his phone back any time before a vaccine came out, he needed to do something about this right now.

“Here, give it to me.” He pulled the phone out of the angels hands and went back to his couch. 

“Crowley, what are you doing? How long does it take you to-”

“I’m ordering you your own phone.” 

“What? But I have a perfectly serviceable phone of my own, I just need yours to do all the ordering.” Aziraphale smiled him, as though it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

“Right. Of course. You are going to use MY PHONE to spend all your time ordering food for the entire duration of the lockdown?” Crowley gave him The Eyebrow. It wasn’t quite as potent as The Thing With The Eyes the way Aziraphale did it, but it still got his point across. 

Aziraphale started to pout, but Crowley held firm. “If you want to single-handedly support all the restaurants in London by ordering takeout and sending to hungry people, I’m all for it. But if you think I’m giving up Candy Crush and trolling conspiracy nuts on Twitter while I'm stuck in lockdown, forget it. You can save the London area hospitality sector on your own phone. I’ll even customize it with angel wings for you.” 

Aziraphale huffed dramatically and rolled his eyes, but he knew better than to try and cross The Eyebrow. When it arrived the next day Crowley made sure there was enough alcohol on hand to ease the pain of setting it up and getting him logged in. But eventually he caught on, and was soon ordering food for the entire NHS staff from every website and app he could find.

And that was how Aziraphale, Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, finally got his own mobile. It only took a modern plague and the threat of losing his favorite sushi restaurant. All he had needed was sufficient motivation.

Footnotes:

1\. This is word for word off the Ritz’s website. It really is currently closed. 

_Three days later . . ._ “Crowley, what are murder hornets? Are they from your side? Your former side, I mean?”

“What the heaven are you talking about?”

“Here, let me text you this. See? They certainly look demonic to me.”

“ _Angel!_ Don’t just send me pictures like that! Warn me next time!”

“I did warn you, I asked you if murder hornets where from your old side.” 

“No, nope, definitely not! Not even hell would come up with that! It’s got to be your former side.”

“My side? Angels wouldn’t- well, most angels wouldn’t-”

“All creatures great and small? That’s Her. She made the world, let there be light and all that. If those things are part of the world, that’s Her handiwork. Even Beelzebub wouldn’t make things like that!”

“Crowley! That’s blasphemy!” 

“It is not! What is so blasphemous about saying that She made the whole world? We were there for part of it.”

“Well, yes, that is technically correct. But that doesn’t mean She specifically made murder hornets.”

“All I’m saying is, they aren’t from my side. My former side. Maybe War made them when she tried to take up beekeeping.”

“That’s probably the most likely possibility. Would you like some more wine, my dear?”

“Please, angel. Fill me up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's been a long semester, but I'm back to writing. Once again, my own marriage dynamics leak into the Ineffable Husbands marriage - I need my wife to trouble shoot anything dealing with modern devices. But anything is possible with proper motivation.


End file.
